Chapter Text
“No, you can’t just ‘do all of it all over again,’” Will Solace rolled his eyes dramatically, his whole body moving with the motion. Even through the Iris Message (of which Will had no idea was stationed on the other end of the room, to Percy’s chagrin), Percy could see the way Nico Di Angelo had a small, fond smile on his face as he faced his boyfriend, who stood not four feet away at his bedside. Nico was sitting upright on his bed, his back against the headrest as one of his legs was splayed out on top of the sheets—wrapped tightly and fully in medical bandage much like a mummy. Though no pain was on his face, it was clear he was being careful not to move.
Unfortunately, Percy was inordinately familiar with that kind of injury, by the looks of it—one of the most common ones after taking a tumble on the climbing wall. He himself had spent multiple nights in the infirmary for the exact same injury to his legs, the same golden-haired Son of Apollo chiding over his mangled body. This time, the only difference was the way Will was currently arguing seemed much, much more enamoured than when he did the same with Percy. He could even spot the fondness of the patient’s onyx eyes, even as Will was stressing the importance of watching where he stepped with a fervent passion. Their closeness made his stomach twist, flipping in a way that had him looking away awkwardly—Percy didn’t feel like he should be interrupting.
“Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me and I’m the closest thing to a doctor we have in this camp, which means my orders are law, mister, and I say bedrest.” Will finished, a righteous raise to his shoulders.
Nico, to his credit, didn’t react outwardly to the lecture other than blinking twice. Then, with a small gesture of his shoulder, he signalled toward the Iris Message on the other side of the bed. There, the soft spray of mist depicted what Percy assumed to be an awkward image of himself hiding his face as he pretended not to be paying attention.
“Percy!” Will brightened almost instantly, and with the exclamation Percy finally felt it safe enough to turn back to what was a private conversation, just with enough time to see Nico relax, the heat from his boyfriend taken off of him. “How are you doing? I haven’t heard from you since you left three months ago!”
If it were possible, Percy felt even more sheepish. He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and a little bit of shame. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah… hah. Sorry about that.”
Will waved him off with a hand flippantly. “You’re a busy man,” He reasoned, before clicking his tongue with a sly smirk. “That won’t distract me from the fact that you dodged my question, though.”
Stupid Will with his stupid perception skills.
“I’m…” He trailed off, sighing heavily as he weighed his feelings. He didn’t want to lie to the human-lie-detector (stupid Will and his stupid cool powers), but if he were fully honest, Will would probably send someone after him as if he’d do something out of sorts.
He’s too busy to think about doing anything like that.
“I’m alright.” He settled on simply. “Both better and worse than I thought.”
Will smiled sympathetically, and Percy forced his face to not show annoyance at the pity. “Let us know if we can help you with anything. We’re here for you. Me and Nico and… and all of camp too.”
Pity. Pity, pity, pity.
“Okay babe,” Nico interrupted calmly, but his hand on Will’s shoulder showed some level of urgency. “We need to talk now.”
Will blinked, his sunny (hah) nature falling for only a moment before he brightened once again. “Of course! Nice seeing you, Percy! See you at dinner, babe.” He squeezed Nico’s shoulder as he left, his sandals slipping out the door of the Hades cabin with practiced ease.
Percy and Nico stared at each other for several moments in silence. Then,
“ ‘Babe?’ ”
“Shut up,” Nico put his head in his hands, groaning.
“It’s cute!” Percy laughed, something in his chest loosening. Nico was smiling, though his body language portrayed something akin to grumpiness.
“We’re…trying new stuff,” Nico admitted quietly, his normally pale olive-toned face heating up to a soft pink.
“That’s good.” Percy replied quietly, assuringly. Then, to make sure he didn’t look too much like a sap, said “but I don’t need to know about what you do in the bedroom.”
“Percy!” Nico shouted, scandalized. Percy laughed hard, his abs straining at the strength of his amusement. Lea even looked up from her fluffy dog bed on the opposite side of his room, her head tilting as her tongue lolled from her maw.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Nico growled, his face eerily similar to that of the ripe strawberries that scattered the fields of Camp Half-Blood. Percy’s laughing subsided, his breath coming out in short, panting breaths.
“It was funny, though.” He watched as Nico’s lips ticked upward into the barest hint of smile. Percy grinned in response, his chest warming.
“We should talk about your life,” Nico muttered, not bothering to hide the fact that he was trying to very quickly change the subject.
“But it’s so fun to make fun of you!” Percy teased lightly, hoping to prolong the fact that he’d rather do anything but.
Nico wasn’t impressed. “We haven’t talked since you started school. That’s three weeks.”
“Yeah, it has been,” Percy agreed shortly, already disliking where this was going.
“That’s not what we used to do.”
“No, it’s not.” Percy looked away, toward the window of his room. The setting sun was just beautiful, really—
“Percy.”
He sighed, drawing his arms up to his chest. He shifted backward on his bed, his back hitting the wall. “I’ve been… busy.”
Nico fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Busy?”
“There’s been a lot going on,” Percy shifted again, forcing himself to relax. “A lot of homework, lot of weirdos staring at me like an alien, lot of annoying people.”
“That's a lot of ‘lot’s.”
“I yelled at someone,” He mentioned stiffly, his brain word-vomiting like he was at confession, not that he’d ever been.
“Did they deserve it?” Nico replied swiftly, visibly unphased.
“No.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Obviously,” He chuckled, but it was hollow and bitter.
“So what’s the big deal?” Nico asked, shrugging like he really didn’t get it.
“Because I’m supposed to be better,” Percy blurted fervently, frustrated with himself. “I’m lashing out…I thought I was past that.”
“Everyone has bad days,” Nico replied evenly, but it sounded much too recited for it to provide any comfort to Percy.
“But I can’t have a bad day!” Percy growled, his patience and resolve waning. “All it takes is one trip to the principal’s office and I’m gone, and I’ve wasted my chance, and then I might as well just be where I started when I was a kid: A fuck-up,” Then, quieter, “just like everyone thought I was.”
“You’re not a fuck-up.” Nico said, his eyes looking somewhere off camera. Percy was too angry to care.
“You don’t underst—”
“No,” Nico interrupted firmly. His fists were gripping the sheets around his middle. “No you don’t understand, Percy. You’ve worked so hard to get where you’re at. You’re literally the inspiration to all of the younger campers. The one who made it out. Not because of godly help, not because you at all had it easy. That was all you—your skill, your personality, yourself.” Nico swallowed, his throat bobbing. His voice was wobbly; “They look up to you, man. I look up to you. You can’t say those things about yourself.”
His throat was dry. “I’m sorry.”
Nico shook his head before Percy even finished what he was saying. “I don’t want an apology. You’re allowed to have these feelings, and I want you to talk about them with me. I don’t want that to change. What I want to change is that you stop blaming yourself for everything in the world that happens. It’s not your fault, and you, Percy Jackson, are far from a fuck-up.”
“You’re taking after Will too much.” He grumbled, too emotional to actually respond to the lecture. He was afraid he’d lose his grip and start sobbing, which was truly the last thing he wanted to do in front of Nico. Regardless of what the boy said, Percy would always feel the need to be strong in front of him. Nico was his little brother, after all.
Nico smiled, just a bit. “I know, it’s annoying, right?”
“Kind of.”
“You get used to it.”
“Mm. How’s Grover?” He asked, trying to once again change the conversation. This time, it was on his terms.
Nico flinched, just barely noticeable, his face twisting into a small frown. Percy caught it though, and he straightened immediately, his awkward mood gone as his mind swirled with every possible reason why Nico reacted like that. Was Grover okay? Was he hurt? How long—
“He’s fine. Just…well, he’s not here. He’s on a quest.” Nico dodged, looking away before looking back. He was hiding something.
“A quest?” Percy prodded.
Nico made a so-so motion with his hand; thin, skeletal fingers slanting left and right. “Not issued by the oracle. Rachel’s still having that problem with prophecies. It’s a search party, really. A satyr went missing—one of the demigod scouts.”
“Only one?”
“Well, I think he said something about another one going unresponsive, but not necessarily missing—just missed one of his check-ins. But this one—remember the blonde one with the funky horns? Wylder? Yeah, he hasn’t been heard from for about two weeks.” Percy could tell Nico was being intentionally blunt, much like he usually was with things—he was never one to beat around the bush. Despite what many may think, in most cases it actually softened the blow when delivering bad news, since the audience get the facts immediately and aren’t sitting ducks waiting for the drop of a hatchet (Percy’d seen this in real time, watching as they delivered the news to new campers of their godly origins). There was one other person Percy knew did this—Will Solace, big surprise—it was probably something that they picked up from one another.
Even with the bluntness, guilt churned in his stomach like a boiling soup. He shuddered, suddenly feeling quite nauseous. Here he was wallowing over something so juvenile as having an argument when satyrs were going missing, and his best friend was searching high and low for him, probably losing sleep and meals and—
“Stop with the guilt, I can see it on your face.” Nico hummed, as if he was reminding someone of the weather.
“I can feel sorry that someone is missing,” Percy snapped, his anxiety making it harder for him to control his temper. Lea looked up at this, a shrill whine making Percy stop and take a deep breath. He waved her off, a smile on his face to reassure her.
“You’re not feeling sorry, you’re guilty. It’s not your fault, and I guarantee if I asked Grover if he wanted you to help, he’d drag you right back to where you’re sitting now. You can sit this one out. Unfortunately, you and I both know that it isn’t that rare of a case.” Percy didn’t respond, biting the inner part of his cheek as he forced himself to let it go. Though Nico didn’t react outwardly, Percy could tell he was quietly pleased by the lack of rebuttal. He rubbed his nose with his forefinger; a habit, Percy knew, since Nico was at least ten—when they had first met. “You should try to relax, for once. Focus on school.”
“That’s not relaxing,” Percy argued, just for the sake of it. Then, quieter, “Someone is helping me,” He noted.
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Percy laughed, chiding, “There are good people out there sometimes.”
Nico gave him a doubtful look that had him doubling over in laughter—the weight in his chest lightening.
“You’re right, but I think he’s good.”
“If you say so.”
“I mean, I was an asshole and he still stayed.”
“That’s how I caught Will.”
“A confusing case, for sure.”
“Watch it.”
Percy laughed.
Tuesday
- Finish Math Homework (due tomorrow!!). Revisit already worked problems for help.
- Write English Thesis
- Enjoy your night!
Percy groaned, his head hitting the surface of his desk with a quiet thunk. He’d read the short list about ten times already, unwilling to actually commit to starting it despite the relatively easy points. His list was small since most of the stuff he had needed to complete tonight was worked on during their study session. Even still, he was quite tired, and was already struggling with motivation to complete the checklist. You saved the world and you can’t write a thesis? His mind whispered cruelly, how embarrassing is that? Another part of his mind argued he deserves some grace because he’d already done all of those things, seen things that most people would never have to, nor could even quantify. A back and forth, much like an angel and devil on his shoulders (one of the few nonexistent things in his life, thankfully—though if he had to see that stupid cherub Eros again it wouldn’t be without his fists meeting that stupid baby-face). It sent his mind reeling, a low headache beginning at the base of his neck. He groaned, covering his eyes with his hands as he scrubbed the sleep from them. Part of him wanted to just turn from his rickety old oak desk, pull off his ratty Nirvana shirt, and fall asleep the second his head hits his pillow. As it stands, though, he made a promise: to do his best. And his best didn’t lie in those soft sheets he was dreaming of.
The written out example problems did help Percy, thankfully. He couldn’t stop the quiet prayer he sent, one that entailed requesting Peter not get tired of him—he really needed the help, as much as he wasn’t really willing to admit it to anyone but Nico. He’d never been one to actually try in school—finding it much easier (and much less hurtful) to get through teacher’s insults about his ability to work if he didn’t try in the first place. Now, when it needs him most, it seems someone out there decided it was due time to give Percy a little bit of grace, one he couldn’t help but be appreciative—if a little apprehensive of.
His English thesis was difficult—the words swimming around each other and letters jumping to other words like they were picking the best spot to settle but just couldn’t decide. Peter had found him an easier font to read, but it still caused him some trouble that, at the end, his head shuddered with a brutal headache, bordering on a migraine. He was quick to lumber into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking his medicine—one for PTSD and the other for depression—and sliding into bed with a soft huff. It didn’t take him long to succumb to his ever-present tiredness, his consciousness finally allowing brief respite in the way of peaceful, happy sleep.
~~~
It was dark.
That was the first thing Percy noticed, at least. It was dark, and there was nothing around him. He opened his eyes, and something cold and wet touched them, sending his head instinctively jerking back to try and escape the feeling. Instead, he finds he can’t move at all, and that’s when he realizes that he isn't staring into nothingness, he’s surrounded by, quite literally, everything.
He also can’t breathe.
By some divine intervention, he’s sure (Percy hopes it’s by one he actually likes, so he won’t regret thanking them), his body instinctively doesn’t breathe, somehow knowing that whatever he was about to inhale is not air. It’s cold, and wet, and oh, so dark. His eyes are covered by whatever substance surrounds him, and he's suspended; nothing below his feet but more of this entrapping sludge.
Something clicks in his brain, like the final puzzle piece slotting into place.
The Son of Neptune Shall Drown.
Muskeg. He’d been in Alaska, on an impossible mission with two friends he had just met days prior. A son of Mars and a daughter of Pluto; Frank and Hazel. Frank had described what Alaska was like, warning against moose and bears and raptors. The weather was just as dangerous, coming to a cool seventy in the afternoons and dropping to a hypothermic negative ten in the night, all across a single day. Alaskan wetlands, more commonly known as muskegs, were enough of a problem in Alaska that mothers would often warn their children of the danger, citing its similarity to a tar-pit: once you get in, it's almost impossible to get out.
Percy, in his infinite wisdom, disagreed with this notion. At least in a tar-pit you had a few minutes to contemplate your death.
The Son of Neptune Shall Drown.
He had thought it was impossible, when the prophecy was given. If it were true, it had to be a play on words, or maybe some other son of Neptune that they unfortunately witnessed during their trip. Because Percy couldn’t drown. For as long as he’d known, whenever he breathed deep in the clear blue, oxygen would always rise to reach his lungs—a lucky break, considering he’d had to test that theory on multiple occasions, running or hiding from a monster (he isn’t quite sure how he knows that, but he’s sure he’d found that information somewhere deep in the files of his amnesiac brain). Now, he chided himself in his infinite stupidity and, embarrassingly, his ego.
The Son of Neptune Shall Drown.
Percy Jackson was going to die.
He feels like he should be a little sadder about that. It was kind of hard too when you couldn’t remember much of your life. A honey-blonde girl with princess curls, someone he knew he loved. Annabeth. His mother, with her soft, warm brown eyes and warmer smile. Sally. Flashes of a faun with curly brown hair, a centaur with a broad smile, a short, pale boy with a deep scowl. Dammit, his brain leapt, wires connecting, I did know Nico, before. That son of a—
His lungs were constricting. His body was going into overdrive—he couldn’t feel his fingers and toes, anymore. He could hardly feel anything but cold. It was so, so cold, and Percy was going to die here. Alone, under tons of wet peat and mud, and cold.
The Son of Neptune Shall Drown.
He hoped Frank and Hazel could move on—they probably could pretty easily, having only known him less than a week. He hoped they would succeed in their quest, having only one casualty when all the quests before to the same location amounted to a 100% death rate. At least the legion wouldn’t lose a full-blown member of the fifth cohort—they didn’t need another incident on the ledger. No, surely the other two would succeed; they were definitely capable of doing that and more, Percy was sure. He only hoped his death would be too much of a burden on their mission—he hated being a burden.
The Son of Neptune Shall Drown.
Percy Jackson knows he is drowning. His heartbeat is in his ears, and he hears it slowing. He feels cold, and he feels the pain of his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. His thoughts have stilled, and, for a moment, he is at rest.
Percy Jackson is free.
~~~
Percy jolts awake, his breath catching as he sits up and gulps in the fresh air, as if he had been truly drowning. Lea was at the end of his bed, sitting atop his legs as her typically crushing weight grounded Percy to reality. He was in New York, in the Upper West Side, in his home, in his bed. He wasn’t in Alaska (anymore), and he definitely wasn’t drowning (anymore).
Percy Jackson is not free, but at least he’s not drowning.
He sighs, his panic subsiding and the strain in his lungs ebbing. Lea grunted softly, her heavy paw pushing on his stomach, forcing him to lay back down onto the bed, instead of his current upright position. He allows it, allowing his body to relax once more into his soft pillow and comfortable covers. Lea’s usually right about when and when not to freak out.
Just as he’s about to try and go back to bed, he hears a quiet noise similar to a rock being thrown against brick. He knows it's not just his imagination, because Lea’s ears perk up, and she stands up from laying on top of him, ignoring his complaints of her weight being fully upon him. Now fully awake, he sits upright, his legs swinging over the bed and his eyes scanning the New York skyline of broken, decrepit buildings from his unclean window. He’s about to call it a fluke when a soft shuffling sound starts up, like fabric moving together. Percy makes his way toward the window, but before he can get within five feet of it, a figure blocks his view.
Percy will never admit this, but he shrieked. He’d fought in literal wars, been to literal hell and back, and he shrieks at a shadow in his window. The savior of Olympus, everyone.
Not only did he shriek, he fell straight on his ass. If it were truly a monster, that probably would have been the end of Percy Jackson. What an embarrassing end, too—died of fright in his own bedroom. Really, he’d—as a ghostly apparition—beg anyone that would listen to put literally anything else on his tombstone.
As it stands, though, Percy Jackson did not shriek, fall on his ass, and die of fright in his bedroom on a Tuesday night. Instead, Percy Jackson shrieked, fell flat on his ass, and watched as a thin, nimble figure crawled up his window and past it, further up the building and not once stopping to look around or pause. The pen-form of Riptide, his most trusted and beloved object, was held tightly in his hand as a figure in what looked like spandex with the symbol of a spider emblazoned on his chest like a trophy crawled up his building. Like a Spider. A Spider.
Percy shivered, not quite feeling cold. He hated spiders.
He’d definitely do well to stay out of that Spider’s way.